


I've Seen the World, Done It All

by MessyScandinoodle



Category: Coco Chanel & Igor Stravinsky (2009), Deadline Gallipoli (TV), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom
Genre: First Meetings, Fluff, Hannibal Extended Universe, Historically Inaccurate, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 12:20:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12748191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MessyScandinoodle/pseuds/MessyScandinoodle
Summary: Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett is merely a shell of who he once was. Perhaps a visit to the French countryside will help heal him.





	I've Seen the World, Done It All

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hannibalsimago](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannibalsimago/gifts).



> This is not historically accurate obviously. 
> 
> This is a very very late commission for HannibalsImago  
> I hope you enjoy it dear.

The sun shown bright, deceptive to the chilled air outside. No snow yet, just dead trees and grass. It was fitting really.

 

An exhausted man sat alone in a train car, on his way to the countrysides of France. The doctor said it would be good for him, help him clear his head. He wasn’t sure anything could really do much to purge his mind of the nightmares that had squirmed their way into his mind. He had seen too much. Of course he kept his play boy personality, but Ellis wasn’t feeling it like he used to. The touch of a woman didn’t even feel right anymore, and that was something that he had always been able to count on.

 

Tired green eyes watched the dead landscape whizz by. He was sick of being on the train. Sick of the tea, sick of his robe. Sick of everything. Maybe he was just sick in general. Coming down with something. Or maybe it was all in his head. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, and lay his head back.

 

He didn’t recall falling asleep, but he was woken by the train squealing to a halt. He got up quickly, not noticing his curls defying gravity as he grabbed his luggage and quickly got off the train. A car was waiting for him, and he got in. More bumping, more dead countryside. Bleak. So very bleak.

 

“Make it snappy, if you would.” He urged the driver, who nodded but didn’t seem to give a shit either way. Typical.

 

Luckily it wasn’t a very long drive, but it was long enough. He felt so restless, yet felt like doing nothing at all. It was maddening. The house was large, illustrious. Coco was a good friend, and he was glad he shacked up with her those many months ago. The driver took his bags in, a maid showed him up to his room.

 

“Thank you, ma’am.” He winked at her, and she giggled as she left the room. He took it in with dull eyes. Luxurious, beautifully decorated. Gentle fingertips brushed across the bedding, the dresser, the lamp. He sat down in an armchair, and lit a cigarette with a heavy sigh. Once again he closed his eyes, not that he wanted to sleep, the risk of nightmares was far too high. It just felt exhausting to keep his eyes open as well.

 

He finished his cigarette quickly, and put it out in a nearby ashtray. Despite his unwillingness, there he was, drifting off into oblivion, until a loud hacking interrupted him. It startled him awake, and he blinked, looking around with a sharp inhale. He then let out a long breath and rubbed his face. He had forgotten others were occupying the large home.

 

“Isn’t that just like you, Ashmead. Forget about the whole fucking world but yourself.” he berated, and stood from his seat. After a short stretch he was ready to go poke about and see who was making that noise. Just as he was about to step out of his room to go be nosy, something much more appealing caught his ear. A piano, being gently plunked into a soft melody. He averted course back downstairs, following the noise. It felt good to hear it, and he couldn’t place why. It felt soothing, like a mother’s lullaby. It had sad undertones, pulling at his heart.

 

He gently opened a large door that separated himself from the noise, and it creaked to his chagrin. The player stopped, and looked to him.

 

“Oh god, please don’t stop. I’m sorry I’m uh- well I’ve just heard you start playing, and had to know the source of such a beautiful song.” Always the charmer. The man playing looked pleased, and he nodded in a shy way,

 

“Thank you, It’s something I composed, but not recently.” Now, Ellis knew he recognized this man, but he wasn’t quite sure from what. His accent was thick, Russian he presumed.

 

“Ellis Ashmead-Bartlett.” He held out his hand, and the musician took it in a firm grasp,

 

“Igor Stravinsky.” Ellis looked dumbstruck at that, and for perhaps once in his life was lost for words. He limply shook his hand.

 

“The Igor Stravinsky? I must be a fool. I didn’t- Well I just haven’t ever had the pleasure of seeing you. I’ve heard your work though. Very passionate. Artistic!” He prattled on, but it seemed Igor didn’t seem to mind. He just smiled, eyes twinkling.

 

“I appreciate that. Thank you.” He then turned back to his piano, to continue playing. Ellis took a seat within the parlor, and closed his eyes. This time, harsh memories didn’t invade his vision, but instead the sweet visions the melody injected into his imagination. The tension he didn’t know he had been holding melted away into the seat. Time seemed to slip away into the void, and Ellis happily followed.

 

He was sorely disappointed when a bell rang, and Igor stopped playing. “That is the lunch bell, I believe.” He seemed a bit unsure about that information, and it made Ellis wonder how long they had been here for. Apparently not long. Now that he was grounded back into reality, he followed Igor out to the dining room.

 

Certainly it should have been no surprise to see four children and a woman already seated, but suddenly Ellis felt as if he were intruding. He wasn’t the kind of man to really care if he were though. Yet in this new life he now had to call his own, he felt more reserved, sheepish. He greeted them each, learning their names and of course being as charming as ever with Igor’s assumed wife. After pleasantries were exchanged, he sat down to eat.

 

Lunch was short, and mostly quiet. The children seemed well behaved, which was refreshing. He didn’t care for hellions running about and causing a mess. It was Catherine who made a suggestion, her breaths seeming short and lost as if she had just been running. He couldn’t understand what she said, speaking Russian. A language he never bothered to learn.

 

“She’s suggesting I show you around the grounds. Would you like that?” Igor asked, and if Ellis wasn’t mistaken he seemed almost hopeful. He found himself feeling the same way.

 

“Smashing idea, really. I’d love to. Do you know the current weather? Ah I’m a fool once again, I’ve just come in from outside just an hour ago. It’s mild.”

  


Igor wasn’t sure what he was thinking about this man. He certainly didn’t dislike him, but he spoke so quickly, but with passion. If he would only speak slower, he would better understand what he was saying. Igor had only a loose grasp on the english language. Igor didn’t really have to understand much because he didn’t have to do a lot of responding.

As they walked through the gardens, Igor’s hands in his pockets, he just listened to the information Ellis dumped. It was all about his travels, and the experiences he had doing so. Igor was gathering he was a bit of a playboy. Childish could be used, if it didn’t have such rude connotations. Ellis finally stopped talking after some time, but that made the air feel dead. He found he liked his prattling.

 

“You were there in Gallipoli?” It was the one thing he did know about Ellis, from articles and the like. He hoped it would strike up conversation. It didn’t quite have the affect he expected. Bartlett clammed up, subtle tensions in his body making him look stiff.

 

“Yes I was there. It wasn’t much to talk about. I published what I could about it anyways. Was a dull place, so I wouldn’t suggest reading it.” He gave a smile that Igor noted did not reach his eyes, but he returned the smile. He noted to never bring it up again.

  


Things were slow throughout the next few weeks. It wasn’t Ellis’s normal pace, but he was finding he liked it. Perhaps it wasn’t the pace, but the company. He quickly learned that the esteemed musician wife was bedridden, and he was often left to his activities alone. At least he used to be left alone. Ellis no longer left him alone. Hardly at all anymore, in fact. When he did leave him alone, Igor came to find him.

 

Ellis wasn’t sure why, but he felt a profound peace while with Igor. He had nearly forgotten about Gallipoli. His mind was filled with his new friend. He was just his friend, wasn’t he? Ellis had some interesting experiences, but they weren’t pleasant ones in the aspect of men and romance. Though in retrospect that was hardly romance. This was far different than that. This was something he had never felt before.

 

Igor was down playing a new tune, or perhaps it wasn’t new. Ellis had a hard time distinguishing. He just enjoyed whatever he made. He listened through the floor as he sat smoking in his chair, but soon meandered downstairs. Gently opening the door, he gazed Igor’s strong back. It was a poor attempt to sneak, but he didn’t want him to stop. It seemed to have worked, as Igor had acknowledged him being there with a smile, but he didn’t look away from his music nor did he stop playing. He got to the end of the score and finally turned to Ellis.

 

“Do you like it?” he asked in his thick accent, eyes sparkling as if he knew the answer. He did.

 

“Yes, it’s fantastic.” Ellis got up, and moved to sit beside him on the piano bench. “Would you show me? I never got the chance to get lessons.”

 

Igor thought for a moment, staring down at Ellis hands, measuring them in a sense.

“Yes, I will show you. Place your hands on the keys like this.” He splayed his fingers across the keys, and Ellis mimed the action. “I can’t promise being a good teacher, I haven’t ever tried.”

 

Ellis nodded, “I can’t promise to be a good student then.” He smirked to him, and Igor slowly plunked a few keys. It was smooth, and beautiful. Again Ellis tried to mimic the action, but it came out sounding choppy and sharp.

 

“Maybe I should stop before I break it.” he noted with embarrassment, but Igor shook his head,

 

“No no, like this.” Again the sweet miniature tune came out, and again Ellis tried it. The same result. Igor gently placed a hand over Ellis’s, and guided his fingers down with gentle pressure. A tight feeling coiled in Ellis’s gut, his fingers were long, and his palms wide. They covered his own thick, stocky hands. He leaned himself into Igor, who didn’t protest the pressure.

 

Igor played with his free hand, and guided Ellis’s with the other. And in this way, Ellis could make music. In this way, Ellis felt a sense of home he had always been looking for. His disappointment was overwhelming when Igor retracted his hand. He turned his head to face him, and found Igor hovering close, eyes gazing down at him. Before he could open his big mouth to make a comment it was caught up in Igor’s uneven lips. It was a perfect fit. He reached to cup the older man’s face, tipping his head to deepen the kiss. Of course it too had to end, but they were both left smiling. He felt like a young lad again, and he leaned into Igor like one. Igor wrapped an arm around him, and held him secure to his side.

  


This was something completely new to Igor. This sense of calm and peace with another man. It was a feeling hard to put into words. It felt like a hot meal during the cold Russian winters. A gentle touch during dark times. He found himself desperate for his company, and desperate for his touch. Their walks through the estate, though still including much prattling, no longer left much space between them. Ellis walked right by his side, their hands intertwined. If their fingers weren’t tangled together Igor had his arm around Ellis. Their relationship was blooming like the flowers now were, budding along with the trees in the orchards. It was soft, just like the spring.


End file.
